Socks Journal
by ClockworkPilot
Summary: Trunks Daughter.
1. Socks Briefs

Socks Journal  
  
by one Clockwork Pilot  
  
Ah, yet another "What If" DBZ fanfic. What if Trunks got married and had a kid?  
What if this kid was a skinny little ablino with a white tail? What if Bra had a kid  
who was a big oaf with the streght of a mac truck? What if Goku had a brother?( And Im not  
talking about Radditz)  
  
Notes: I know absolutely nothing about how the japanese adademics work, so please forgive  
my inorgance as to how I try to protroy school life. Lets also assume in my alterive universe  
fic that japans educational system is parell to americas unless you want to fill me in on   
how things are really are, in which case Ill adjust according to you.  
Also, please forgive my spelling at the moment. I havent had time to run it through Windows yet.  
  
  
  
Sept 12  
  
I suppose Im adjusting to things well enough.  
  
Of course, part of my adjustment is the realization of the fact that Im still considered a freak by everyone around me.   
  
And through everyone keeps on telling me things get better, that it may seem like hell now and it will all be a part of the past   
when Im grown, its no comfront.   
  
I am not an adult.   
Im a 15 year old girl and Im right here, Im living in the   
present, Im right here, in the corner of the cafetia with my high-energy low-calorine low-sugar low-everything  
-that-prevents-from-becoming-big-and-strong lunch made especially for me by my grandmother and my journal,  
except its manodtory for english so I guess its not exactly that but I cant think of any other name for it.  
No, this isnt a memory Ive forgetten yet. Im still the little werido that sits alone looking at all the other  
people in there happy little clusters. Even the techno-junkies and freaks click into place somewhere. Im always  
the odd one out. It could be my past, my geneology, or simply my appearance. I look like I should be ablino, with   
sheet-of-paper white and fairly pale skin, not sickly or anything like that, but I have those almost-sky blue eyes.  
You know, the really pale shade that scares people. Part of my assignment in english is to write down five things  
I like and dislike. What is this, self-discovery class? What 10th grade teacher gives an assignment like  
that? And what 10th grade teacher cares about what there students like and dislike? Almost forget, teachers  
going to be reading this. So I have to do this. I dont want to start off classes with a bad grade, after all:  
  
Five things I like  
Training, becuase I feel like I belong when Im fighting on the same level  
Boxer, becuase hes the only one near my age who tolerates me  
My Father, the coolest male on the plannet  
My grandfather, the second-coolest male of the plannet  
  
Im drawing a blank as to what would be the fifth thing that I like. Ill just let it go for now.  
I have to discuss myself, I have to fully explain myself to the best of my   
abpility, that is what English-san (Im drawing a blank on his name at the moment) told us on the first day. He said   
theres a horriable thing crippling the sytle of young writers, a "me-phobia" where the writer is afraid that they are  
so dull and boring that no one whould ever show interest if they wrote about thereselves, so they write in a awkward   
unconfrontable third-person style that is boring and dull, just what they feared to begin with.   
  
But how the can you write about yourself without bias? Without sounding stupid, whining, or even worse, showing   
arrogant and conceited? How could anything see themselves as they truly are, without there self-image wrapped by  
other people and there own home-brewed deslesions?   
  
I dont want to think about all this right now. I dont know why they keep forcing people who hate to write to do things  
like this. Its not like it will sudden bring out the tortued, suppressed, and depressed poet in all of us.   
Shit. Torture session coming up. Later.  
  
THE USUAL TREATMENT-  
  
Im the 8th or 7th strongest person on the plannet, depending on how you see streght.   
I could reach over, firmly grasp both sides of his ance riddled, grease covered face and effortlessly snap his neck.  
It would be the easiest thing in the world.   
I wouldnt even have to TRY.  
  
And I just sit there. While they tell me how ugly I am, while they tell me things about my father and my dead mother   
that I never knew, the things Ive done with my non-existant brother. While they play with my food and reach over to pull my  
hair.   
  
Sometimes I pretend theres speaking a different langue I cant understand.  
Sometimes I pretend they dont exist, or that Im invisable.  
But mostly I think about how many different ways I could kill them-  
and how goddamn easy it would be.  
  
More that ever, this is when I remeber my ancestory, the orgin of the blood in my viens.  
I think of plannet Vegita, and the proud, powerful warroirs that inhabited it.  
I think of King Vegita, unable to help his people becuase of his fear, and his son who carried promise  
of hope and the streght needed to defeat the oppressor of his people, symbolized in the words Super-Saiyianjinn.  
And his son the Prince, taken by the oppressor who out of fear of his potential power, made him belive he was only  
good purpose was killing, sending him on missons to destory the people of plannets that opposed him under the threat   
of the death of his father if he did not comply. He obeyed, growing weaker inside and power levels increasing with each   
passing moment. One day, there was a great uprising of the inhabitants of Vegeta. The King had gathered his greatest soilders  
and attacked the oppressors main shuttle that was orbiting the plannet. And the other soilders, lead by a man named Bardock,   
stood waiting on the edge of the atmosphere. The oppressor was the strongest known being in the universe, at the time. He slew  
King Vegita and his follows, and deciding that they were becoming to strong for thier own good, he made the desicon to destroy  
the entire plannet. He stood outside of his shuttle, killing the waiting soilders and tearing the plannet apart in one gigantic   
energy ball.   
The Prince was in the lower quarters of the oppressors ship. He was told that plannet Vegita was destroyed by a powerful meteor storm.  
Time passed, with the Prince being the oppressors quiet minon, silently sluathering and bucthering entire populations in his name.   
He never forgot the legacy of what his was or what his father told him, that he would enter the ranks of unstoppable power.   
He kept this one thought in mind, it was his drive, to become stronger. This streght was his one goal, his inner drive. Power should became  
his only motive for his actions, to fulfull his fathers dream, what kept him obeying his heartless step-father. Streght would make him feel whole.  
He would become stronger than the others, stronger than his step-father, he would break free. The oppressor kept his busy with missons, virtually  
inoring him unless it concerned a misson, his goal to make the Prince a emotionless, effiecent killing machine that would never think to question   
him. More time passed, the Prince going on genocide missons and training non-stop, but he was still weaker than his step-fathers other elite minons.  
Finally, impatient, he concluded the only was to break free and defeat his step-father was to be immortal. Uhh...Its late. This is a history only   
someone whould care about anyway.   
Its my private religon. Well, not too private-ancestor worship and all that. Dad just walked in, his hair unbraided for the night, telling me I need   
to get to bed. He asks me how my first day of school was, I tell him it was fine. I dont tell him the startled look on the teachers faces, \  
or how I found myself trembling at the thought of having to take a shower at gym, relived by the fact we were only getting our towels and shirt and shorts and lockers. How was found again by the   
same group of boys with empty faces with empty smiles and hands they wont keep to themselves, how I keep swearing Ill rip there egosoftagus out if I  
hear the words "Money Girl" again. He smiles, with his brillant whites spreading over his face like honey, reaching over to touch my shoulder. I feel  
all the anger and frusration and self-pity Ive been feeling all day disslove into mist when I feel those strong, firm fingers wrap around my thin vaguely  
muscalur arm.   
  
I guess this is the part where I log out. So I will.  
  
  
  



	2. Boxer Kirsagi

  
Sept 13  
  
Mr. English is very upset with me.  
  
I didnt finish my assignment, he didnt ask me to write about my personal   
promblems or some bizzare exodus story. He said he thought I was different  
from the others, I might actually try to work, I might have goals. They always  
assume the loners are smart and focused.  
  
I always prove them wrong. Its not that Im an complete moron or anything, its  
just that Im apathic. I guess its becuase I know that my grades wont change   
much for me in the long run. Always the misfit, as Boxer puts it.  
  
And's hes ALWAYS the ideal one.  
  
He decided to grace me with his presence at lunch today.  
I was busy buring myself in a rice bowl when I see all 6 feet and 3 inches   
of him standing over me. He puts on his classic oblivous-to-everything-the-world  
-is-just-fine-please-dont-worry smile. He brushes his dark purple bangs out of his  
almost-black eyes and eases into the chair next to mine.  
"Hi Socks-chan, Im sorry I didnt have lunch with you yesterday, its just that some  
of the guys wanted to take me to..."  
I mumble a "Yeah, whatever" around my mouthful of rice. I notice everyone in the   
surrounding chairs staring at the Boxer Kirsagi, the perfect athlete and social butterfly,  
and by the looks on there faces there wondering whats hes doing sitting next to that werid  
pale chick that never talks to anyone. Normaly his cheerly dispostion made me feel better-  
but for some reason it just annoyed me.  
"Dont you have some other friends to entertain? Im prefectly find by myself, thanks for your concern"  
"No Socks, I want to be with you. Whats bothering you, you know you can tell me"  
"Why do you always have to play the hero? Maybe I just need to be depressed right now"  
I didnt think about the words until they came out of my mouth.   
He's my cousin, 2 years older than me. My dad and Aunt Bra keep telling me about how he would  
drag me around like a stuffed toy when I was old enough to play with, tucking me under his arm when  
he went adventureing. I think I can remeber somewhere in the vaults of my memory be raised over his head  
and being tossed a few yards agaist a tree. I remeber crying over the cut on my forehead when it only   
stung a little and when Boxer came over to apolgize punching him in the face. I remeber fighting.   
  
Lots and lots of fighting.  
  
We never really hurt each other. We cancelled we other out as far as basic, in-born ability. He has the   
advantage of more muscle and girth. I have speed, for the most part, and the ability to control it.  
So we pulled each others hair and slammed foreheads and rabbit kicked each others intertnal organs in.  
I think we both loved every mintue of it. There was love in every uppercut. I can remeber the glow of   
utter and undivided pride and attention in my grandfathers eyes when he saw us.   
  
I looked up and saw the pained look in Boxers eyes.  
"Im sorry I've bothered you, Socks-chan" His thick, meaty hands were twisting into knots.  
"No, Im sorry" I reached over and tried to wrap my hand around his forearm, but it only reached   
1/3 around "Im being a jackass, alright?"  
"Alright" He used one thick, viened thumb to wipe the mist forming in his eyes.  
Even though Ive know him my whole life, its still hard to belive someone whose grown to be so damn HUGE   
was so senstive as well.I forget how he still wants to take care of me, even if the rest of the boys   
wanted to steal him away sometimes. At the consulation, his black eyes glowed with familar confidance.  
"You missed training yesterday, you know"  
"Of corse. You think I wouldnt notice that I hadnt kicked your ass for the ten-thosandth time"  
"Yeah right. Ill re-adjust your liver. Grandfather was upset you didnt show"  
"Tell him I'm sorry, I had homework"  
  
We spent the rest of the lunch hour discussing kai techiques and the newest blade weapons. When I was   
beginning to feel like I was connecting again, some wide-shouldered, flat faced thick muscled assholes  
came to rob me of my comfront again. They gave me the "What the hell are you doing with our friend."  
Boxer gave me a distant smile and trotted off to join the herd. I heard them talking as they walked away.  
"What are you doing with her, Box? You could do a lot better in the girl department, I know this one..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
